


antagonism & altruism

by Accidie



Series: the beginnings [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Found Family, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hosea and Dutch's whacky adventures, Just to be safe, Young Arthur Morgan, Young Dutch van der Linde, Young Hosea Matthews
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22653439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidie/pseuds/Accidie
Summary: Hosea and Dutch don't take kindly to being robbed, kid or not.--In which the relationship between Hosea, Dutch and Arthur has a hostile start.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews & Dutch van der Linde, Small tiny hints of Dutch Van der Linde/Hosea Matthews
Series: the beginnings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1817620
Comments: 10
Kudos: 243





	antagonism & altruism

**Author's Note:**

> this is entirely inspired by the quote  
> “You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.”
> 
> warning for child abuse by Dutch in the beginning.

When they leave Kettering, they do it 300 dollars richer and with the law on their trail. 

They spend 100 dollars on a full set of clothes for the both of them and on another horse, the one Hosea had stolen from the sheriff was too recognizable. They sell the old one off at the nearest stable. 

Still high on adrenaline from the chase, full of arrogance from fooling that awful town and humiliating their sheriff, they don’t notice the kid sneaking up on them at the saloon until it’s too late. The boy runs off with Dutch’s bag and all of their money. 

They find him almost a full day after, sees the smoke from his campfire almost half a mile away. 

\-- 

The kid gives them a fight, Hosea will give him that. He almost guts Dutch with his knife, but he’s moving slow, still sluggish from the sleep they had woken him up from. 

Sensing it’s a losing fight, the kid makes an attempt to run off but Hosea grabs him by the scruff of his neck, the way you would do to a kitten, and the kid makes a last attempt to defend himself, swings that knife of his around wildly. He doesn’t drop it until Dutch lands a hard punch to his face, almost knocking the bastard out. Hosea releases him and he crumbles to the ground sniffling, fondling his face, clearly in pain. 

Hosea has trouble feeling sorry for the brat. He had stolen from them after all. The kid looks ready to launch an attack on them again, but stills in terror when both of them draws their guns. He growls like a dog when Hosea moves to pat him down but doesn’t dare to fight back. 

To his frustration he finds nothing on the boy. 

“Where is our money?” Dutch snarls. The kid shakes under that angry gaze. 

“Don’t know whatcha talking ‘bout,” the kid says. 

“We know it was you that took it, kid. Now where is it?” 

“It’s gone,” he says. 

“Gone?” 

The kid nods, and in a sudden fit of anger Dutch slaps the kid across the face, who falls into the ground again. They had lost a whole day chasing down the kid and they would come out of it empty handed. Hosea felt ready to kill the kid himself. 

“That was two hundred dollars.” Hosea snaps. 

“I know, I counted ‘em.” Dutch makes a move like he’s going punch the kid again, but stops himself when he sees how the kid flinches. 

“Check his bag,” Hosea says, never taking his eyes of the brat. “See if he’s telling the truth.” 

Dutch goes to grab the satchel, opens it and- 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” Dutch yelps and almost drops it. “Hosea, there is a dead rat in there.” 

  
“You scared of rats?” The brat asks, and Dutch almost looks ready to punch him again. 

“I ain’t scared of rats,” he snaps with a redness rising to his cheeks. Hosea sighs and takes the satchel from Dutch, throws away the dead animal before he looks through it. There is not much there, but his eyes land on two photographs. He sees the kid’s reaction when he takes them out, how he stiffens and suddenly looks scared. 

One is a picture of a woman. She looks plain, as most did in black and white, but with a small smile on her lips, a sharp contrast from all the stoic portraits he usually saw.   
And the other- Hosea's eyes widen when he sees it. Dutch, now curious, snatched both from his hands, also he looks surprised when he spots the man in the picture. 

“Why are you carrying a photo of Lyle Morgan, kid?” Dutch asks. 

They already know the answer. They are very similar after all, the kid would probably look even more like his father if he ever grew old. They are even wearing the same hat. 

“I think we stumbled upon a gold mine here, Hosea,” Dutch says. “If the rumors are true.” 

Finnegan, an old man running the fence in Kettering, had talked about it once, about Morgan’s gold, the one he had gotten after the ill-fated theft that put the law on his tail. The lawmen had found him but never the gold. 

“Do you know what your old man did with the loot?” Hosea asks. 

“He lost it,” the boy replies. 

Hosea tsks. “You’re a bad liar, kid.” 

“I sold it.” the kid tries, and it’s almost laughable how he changes his story. 

“I know you didn’t sell it kid, even your old man had trouble getting' rid of it, so I heard,” Dutch says. “He hid it somewhere, didn’t he?” 

When the kid refuses to respond, Dutch holds up the photographs again, dangles them in front of the kid. “If you want these back you need to talk to us. Otherwise I’ll just get rid of ‘em, just like you did to all our money,” as to prove his point Dutch takes a step closer to the open flame behind them, holds out the photograph of the kid’s mother, the photo the kid seemed extra fond of. 

“Do you know where he stashed it?” 

The boy shakes his head, but none of them are convinced. He stares at the photograph in Dutch’s hands, the one that’s now dangerously close to the campfire. “You sure, kid?” Dutch asks. “Are you gonna change your answer before or after we burn this thing up?” 

The boy tries to put on a brave face but he pales when Dutch dangles it above the flames, his breath hitches in his throat when he sees how the edge of the picture crackles as it slowly starts to catch on fire. 

It’s the breaking point for the kid. Hosea almost feels bad. 

“No!” the boy shouts. His eyes wet with tears. “I’ll tell you where it is, please don’t burn it, I’ll tell you!” the words are hurried, he sounds close to panic. 

Dutch takes a step away from the fire, shakes the photograph to get rid of the smoldering edges and pockets it with a smirk. “You ready to talk then?” 

The boy nods. “It’s in Red creek,” he chokes out. “Outside of Fulton.” 

“Indiana?” Hosea asks, and the boy once again nods. 

“Not too far away,” Dutch says. “A couple of days at most.” 

Still, it ruined their plans. "We are supposed to meet up with Colm and Sean in Armadillo in two weeks.” Hosea snaps. “We won’t be able to make it there in time with this detour.” 

They had wanted a quick escape west, the law was looking for them all over Ohio, no doubt in Indiana as well. 

“There ain’t no point in meeting them if we don’t have the money.” 

Money to buy guns and dynamite for the lot of them, guns they needed for that damn train Colm had been talking about. 

All their plans spoiled by some little street urchin. “How the hell did you manage to lose two hundred in less than a day anyways?” he asks the kid who flinches, stares at him with wide and fearful eyes. He reminds him of a wild animal, all skittish, looks ready to run at any minute. 

The kid doesn’t respond, instead he looks at Dutch. “Can I have it back now?” he asks. 

“Have what?” 

The boy doesn’t elaborate, but he stares at Dutch’s pocket. Dutch snorts. “You can get it back when we get paid.” 

“Don’t tell me that you are planning on bringing him along,” Hosea says. 

To his great annoyance, that was exactly what Dutch was planning on doing. 

When they set off in the morning it’s with Morgan’s kid sitting with Dutch in his saddle. 

They took his knife, now safely tucked away in the sheath on Hosea’s belt, the kid almost threw a fit when they took it from him, not that he can do much against it, even a feral boy as him isn’t so stupid to try to fight against two armed men. The boy has nothing else of value in his satchel. A flower in a glass jar, his pictures, and some crackers covered in hair and blood from the dead rat. They throw them away and the boy almost bites through Hosea’s glove in retaliation when he lifts him up at Dutch’s horse. 

They ride for hours, ride pass small towns and cabins, places they usually would stop by to see if there would be any good pickings. Thanks to the little brat strapped to Dutch’s horse they have no option but to ride them all by. 

Damn that kid for getting the better of them, for forcing them halfway across the state. 

The sun is about to set when they finally stop to rest. They set camp next to a small creek. Dutch makes an attempt to wash away most of the grime from the boy in it. It goes as well as Hosea had expected, the kid struggling the whole time like a cat in water, Dutch is soaked through himself when he finally is done. 

Without all the dirt covering his face and without all the grease in his hair, he actually looks human, Hosea notes. If he just had some more fat in his cheeks he would almost look like a cherub. There were bruises blossoming on his jaw and around his eyes, tomorrow they would be even more noticeable. Strange, how much a bathe can change. Now when he really does look like a kid, Hosea feels shame over the state of him. They had been too rough. 

It’s even stranger seeing Dutch interact with the kid. He treats him with the same sort of kindness he does to his horse, brushing out the knots from his hair, feeding him peaches directly from the can, a sharp contrast to how Dutch had acted around the boy earlier in the day. Perhaps it’s a way to compensate for the violence earlier, Dutch had seemed ashamed of it later. 

A kid was a kid, Hosea figured, thief or not. He didn’t like hurting them, no sane man did. 

He’s rolled up like a baby in a blanket Dutch borrowed him, a heartwarming sight. Or it would be if the kid wasn’t such a terror to them, still glaring and flinching every time Dutch got close. It was like watching him tame a wild horse. A hissing, menace of a horse who didn’t seem to be able to choose what to feel about his situation, switching between looking angry and just looking sad, like he was minutes from crying. 

He must have wasted most of his energy on looking all sour, because when they tie him up for the evening, he doesn’t even struggle. “I am sorry, kid,” Dutch says before retiring into his tent. “Can’t have you running away. You coming Hosea?” 

“Nah,” Hosea answers. “I think I’ll sleep outside.” 

He had always preferred to sleep in the open, much to Dutch’s chagrin. Sometimes he would indulge Dutch and fall asleep next to the younger man, but more often than not he slept alone, though always close enough to hear Dutch’s snoring inside the tent. 

Sleep comes easy to Hosea, lulling off almost as soon as he settles the warmth of the bedroll. 

It’s the middle of the night when he awakes to whimpers coming from the tree next to him, and it takes a while for him to realize who’s making the noise. In his drowsy state he had almost forgotten about the kid, for a second he thought he was hearing a poor animal stuck in a trap nearby, it seemed like a too common occurrence out in the wild. 

He’s just about to tell the kid to shut up but stops when he sees the kids face, even in the dark with only the smoldering remains of their campfire he can see that the boy still is asleep. 

What kind of outlaws where they? Robbed blind by a scrawny kid who cried in his sleep. Pathetic, truly.   
“Kid,” he calls out, careful not to make too much noise as Dutch always got so grouchy if he was woken up without reason. “Kid,” he repeats when the boy still continues to whimper and whine. This time he finally wakes up, startled and confused, looking more pathetic than ever. Younger too. It’s scary how vulnerable he looks. 

“I’m sorry, mister,” the kid mumbles, “Sorry for waking you up.” 

And the irritation he had felt melts away in a second. The kid looks so scared. He has reason to be, Hosea thinks, they had hurt him after all, basically kidnapped him. 

“It’s fine,” Hosea says. “Just go back to sleep, kid, you will be rid of us soon enough.” 

The kid makes a noise, like he’s choking down a sob. “I don’t want to go back there, mister,” he says. He doesn’t need to ask what ‘there’ is.   
“Why not?” Hosea asks but the boy doesn’t respond, instead he tries begging again.   
“I’ve already told you were the money is, you don’t need me no more.” 

“Forgive us for not entirely trusting your word, kid,” Hosea snarks. “And this is not a discussion I want to have in the middle of the night.” 

“Sorry,” the kid says. It’s starting to get annoying. 

“Stop apologizing.” 

“Sorr-,” the kid stops himself and Hosea sighs. Tries not to be rude towards the boy, one can hardly be blamed for having night terrors, or for being scared of them. The anger he had felt before had melted away into a feeling of weariness. They had really needed that money the kid stole, but no doubt he had needed it too, perhaps even more than them.   
  
“What did you do with all that money?” Hosea asks. 

The kid mumbles something. 

“Speak up, kid.” 

“I bought a donkey.” 

“A _donkey_? For 200 dollars?” Jesus fucking Christ, they had been robbed by the dumbest kid in the world. “What the hell did you need a donkey for?” 

“They were beatin’ on it all day,” the kid replies softly. “Didn’t wanna see it get beaten no more, so I bought it.” 

“And where is this donkey now?” 

“It ran away.” 

“Christ, kid, couldn’t you at least have bought something more sensible?” 

“Just didn’t wanna see it beaten no more,” the boy repeats, sounding resigned. 

_How on earth did this kid manage to survive so long?_ But then he casts a glance at the kid, sees his thin frame, the exhaustion on his face that had less to do with sleep and more to do with living rough, and realizes that perhaps the boy wasn’t surviving at all. Just barely keeping it together. 

He didn’t know much about Morgan, he was a minor criminal only worth remembering for the rumors about his treasure, but he thinks he hates him for leaving this poor kid to fend for himself. 

“You never gave us your name, kid,” Hosea says. He’s met with silence. “Kid?” 

The boy has fallen asleep. 

Hosea lies awake for the rest of the night. 

He’s sporting a headache in the morning. It gets slightly better after drinking some coffee that Dutch prepared for him. The kid is still asleep, his left side eye had started to swell, fortunately it wouldn’t be completely swollen shut. 

“You look tired, friend.” Dutch says. He sits down next to him on the log. “Did he keep you up?” 

Hosea nods. “He had a nightmare.” 

Dutch stares at the boy. 

There is a look in his eyes that Hosea doesn’t like, like he’s considering something, sizing the poor kid up. It’s gone in an instant, as soon as Dutch sees Hosea is watching him. 

“We should stop in Lafayette, it’s on our way,” Dutch says. “Get some supplies.” 

“With what money?” 

Dutch hums. “I’m sure you will figure something out, you always do.” 

\----- 

The boy almost attacks Hosea when he shakes him awake and then apologizes profoundly when he comes to his senses. They give him some crackers and the last of their salted beef, the boy hogging it down in an instant as if he thinks they were going take it away from him if he ate too slow. 

They ride off soon after. 

“You outlaws or somethin’?” the kid asks an hour into the ride. “That’s why you didn’t send the sheriff on me?” 

“Don’t tempt us, kid, perhaps we’ll do just that once we get paid,” Hosea answers. 

“Did you rob a bank?” 

“Not quite,” Dutch says. 

“What did you do then?” 

Damn chatterbox. Hosea’s ready to tell him to shut up, but Dutch seems delighted by all the questions. 

“Have you ever been to Kettering, kid?” Dutch begins, with a smile on his lips. 

\-- 

The kid seems to be entertained by Dutch’s story, laughs when Dutch describes their escape, how they robbed the sheriff and tied him up naked in his own cuffs. Dutch then goes to talk about other cons they’ve done, about the time Hosea managed to rob a funeral of all things.   
They ride on across the landscape, only stopping twice to get some rest but Dutch not resting his voice once, hellbent on talking them all to death, even the kid had gotten tired of it after a while, looking ready to fall asleep in the saddle. 

They have been riding for hours before they spot horsemen in the distance. Even a hundred yards away Hosea recognizes the hats they are wearing. 

“It’s the law,” he says. 

Dutch curses. “Should we go into in the trees?” 

“No,” Hosea responds. “They’ve spotted us. Just- just act normal.” 

“Don’t speak,” Dutch says in a low, dangerous tone, now directed towards the kid. “I’ll shoot you dead if you do.” Not that there is any need to threaten him, he seems frightened by the mere sight of the law. He was a criminal himself after all. He would be in just as much danger as them if they got arrested. 

“Good day, gentlemen!” Dutch calls out to the men when they get closer. One of them is young and clean shaven, or perhaps he was even too young to grow hair yet. It was most likely his first year in service, Hosea recognized the signs of an inexperienced man. He held himself like had something to prove.   
The older one has a bored expression on his face and a large, dark mustache that had some grey hairs in it. Deep wrinkles were set in his face, the kind one would get from frowning too much. 

Well, if they sniffed out something wrong with them it would be an easy fight. None of them looked like they would be fast with a gun. 

“Evening,” the older man says, his voice all gruff. “We’re lookin’ for some men said to be traveling across the state, you’ve seen anyone?” 

“Can’t say I have,” Dutch says with a smile and then feigns a look of worry on his face. “Anything we should be worried about?” 

The younger one doesn’t look at neither Dutch nor Hosea, instead he sets his eyes on Morgan’s kid. “That ain’t right,” he says before the old man has time to respond. “Lettin’ the kid wear rags while you dress so fine.” 

“O’Malley!” the older man snaps, but he looks at them with something like suspicion in his eyes now, could see that something wasn’t matching up, that the kid was the odd one out. 

“I am just sayin’!” 

“Is the kid yours?” The older man asks. 

“My nephew,” Hosea quickly says, his hand now resting on the gun strapped to his thigh, hoping that the men didn’t see it. “He’s been living on his own for a while, poor bastard. Damn boy refused to send for me when his father died, thinking he would manage on his own.” 

“That so?” 

Before they can dig themselves further into the ditch, they hear the sound of hooves. “O’Malley, LaFonde,” a young voice calls out, and the older man, LaFonde turns towards the newcomer. “A lady says she’s spotted a handsome man when on the road, said he looked suspicious, rode towards Logansport. Could be Matthews.” 

LaFonde turns to them, his eyes still suspicious, but then nods towards the two other men, who ride off. “Make sure to give that kid some food,” he says before steering around. “We don’t take too kindly to neglect of children here.” 

With that he rides off. 

“Well shit, that was close.” Dutch says. 

They continue the ride towards Lafayette in silence. It was a close call. 

“Why did they assume you were the handsome man?” Dutch suddenly asks, and Hosea can’t help but laugh. The kid seems to find it funny too. “You really need to ask?” the boy snarks, and Dutch whacks him on the head. “Shut up kid,” he says, doing a bad job of hiding the amusement in his voice. 

In just two days they would be rid of the boy.   
Strangely enough, the thought of it isn’t nearly as comforting as it was the day before. 

\--- 

They find a run-down saloon to stay at in Lafayette. 

It was a stroke of luck that the law left them alone. But there was still a day or two to Red Creek, and the kid obviously stuck out like a sore thumb next to them in his worn, far too large clothes. 

They were going to need a new change of clothes for him. Hosea knew just where to go. 

He had overheard some talk about the owner of the general store just next to the train station in Lafayette. A man who recently lost his daughter to tuberculosis, according to some ladies he heard gossiping at the saloon. Apparently, the only store in town who sold grapes, so the ladies had been upset when the man had closed down the store for a whole week to mourn. 

That’s why Hosea decided to bring Morgan’s little kid along. In a hurry he drags the kid along with him, a strong grip around his hand. Even with the photograph of the kid’s mother in Dutch’s clutches to prevent the kid from running away, Hosea still doesn’t trust the kid not to take off as soon as he gets the chance. 

Before they go into the store, Hosea takes the kid to the side. “Here is how we are gonna do this,” he says. “Don’t speak, don’t steal anything. Just stand around and look pitiful. I think you can manage to do that.”   
  
The kid scowls, but nods. “Good boy, now let’s go.” 

With a firm hand on the kid’s shoulder he leads him inside the store. “Good evening!” he calls out. 

The store owner, a large man with brown, thick hair and thick sideburns that almost looked red, looks up and smiles at them. He has deep circles around his eyes and a redness around his nose. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, like he had spent much time crying the last days. Hosea almost feels bad. “Good evening, mister,” he says. “Are you new in town?” 

“Indeed I am,” Hosea smiles. “Traveling home with my boy here,” he gestures towards the kid, who attempts a smile but it comes out as a grimace, no doubt because of the right-hand hook Dutch had given him before. 

“Your son?” the store owner asks, a small frown on his face, his eyes stuck on the bruises around the boy’s jaw and eyes. 

“Nephew,” Hosea quickly corrects him. “My brother passed away recently and left me in charge.” 

“I am sorry to hear that, mister.” 

The kid looks up at him with a curious glint in his eyes, the same watchful glance he had when Dutch had spoken to the law. He was trying to learn, Hosea realizes, and has to stop himself from smiling.   
  
“Oh, don’t be, a horrible man he was, I am just glad that he died before he managed to starve my poor nephew to death.” Hosea squeezes the kids' shoulder, who instantly puts on a sad expression on his face again. 

The shop owner looks at the kid with a deep sadness in his eyes. Hosea has almost reeled him in. 

“Back to the matter at hand,” Hosea says, tries to make himself look as tired as possible. “As you can see, the boy is in need of new clothes. Now, we don’t have much, but I have this,” he holds up a golden pocket watch, “It’s antique, it belonged to my mother,” Stolen from a lawman he shot dead back in Ohio. “It’s not worth much,” Completely worthless, more like. “I kept it mostly for the sentimental value, but I hope it’s enough to pay for a new pair of pants for the poor boy, and perhaps some health cure for his condition.” 

The poor shop owner looks crestfallen, and Hosea knows he’s won him over. 

They leave with a new set of clothes, two health tonics and canned food that would last for at least three days, all given away. 

It was easy getting the items, much harder to get the boy to wear them. When they finally get back to the hotel and get to see the clothes properly, the boy throws a fit. 

“I ain’t wearing that,” he snarls. 

“Why not?” Dutch asks, but he almost laughs when he sees them himself. A silky, light blue shirt with matching trousers and pale lavender vest with a paisley pattern. A stark contrast to the brown and grey rags he was wearing. They seemed more suited for a bourgeoisie boy, not this feral little kid they’d picked up. 

“I am gonna look like a dumb-ass.” 

“You already do,” Hosea says, and Dutch laughs again. 

The boy just scowls at them but does what they say. For every day he seems to get easier to deal with. He once again thinks of a wild animal. Wonders how well he would manage on his own when they’ve tamed him. 

\-- 

Dutch loved attention, Hosea didn’t mind it himself, he liked putting on a show. It was always easier to con people if you were comfortable with being in the spotlight. 

They quickly learn that the kid absolutely hates the attention his new clothes bring. He looks sour where they sit in the saloon, glares at the young ladies giggling at the trio. They are casting glances at Hosea and whispering among themselves while also cooing over the boy. He was a cute kid with his fair hair and light, almost teal eyes. If Hosea ever would have kids on his own, he'd like to think they would look like the boy. 

The whole thing feels strange. When the bartender saw the boy’s malnourished face they got a free meal and some candy for him. 

Often they had to work to gain the trust of strangers. It was like the boy dispelled all suspicion just by being there. 

Hosea feels as if he could get used to it. Tries not to linger on the idea, he will only be disappointed in the end.   
They’re heading to Red creek tomorrow. They had no room for a kid in their life, especially not someone like Morgan’s. 

They don’t tie him up when they retreat for the night, gives him the spare bed, the kid’s eyes looking like they were going pop out from his skull as if he expected them to let him sleep on the floor. 

When they wake up in the morning the kid is still there. Hosea almost hoped he would have run away. 

It would have been easier if he had done so. 

\--- 

The closer they get to Red creek the more silent the boy become. Silent and jittery. It almost makes him wonder if the kid had lied about the gold, if he was afraid of being punished if they left the place empty handed. It seems unlikely, though, that the boy would lead them on a goose chase across the state over a lie. 

The boy leads them to an old cabin. There is an empty chicken coop next to it. It’s not much. 

“Is this it?” Dutch asks, and the kid nods, staring at it with something akin to fear in his eyes, fear and longing. 

“Your old home?” The kid nods again. 

He follows them like a shadow inside. “Where is the gold then?” Hosea asks. 

“In the attic. Inside the duck, the one with a green head.” 

_A mallard_ , Hosea thinks but doesn’t correct him. 

“I’ll get it,” Dutch says and leaves up the staircase. 

There is not much of value in the cabin. It smells of mold and rot. It’s sparsely decorated. Once it could have been cozy, now it just looks lost to time, a layer of dust covering everything, from the pictures on the fire place to the small table in front of the couch. It looks like it was left in a hurry. A rusty, opened can stands on the stove top, the inside completely unrecognizable. 

He hears a door open and the boy’s breath hitches in his throat. “What’s the matter, kid?” Hosea asks, brows furrowing. He turns around and sees an open door to the left of the main entrance, a door he hadn’t noticed. Quick on his steps he follows the boy inside. 

The kid is stiff, his eyes wide, big as saucers as he stands frozen in his spot. In front of him lies a corpse still in bed. It’s black, almost completely dry and all features seemingly gone from it’s face. Hosea can see where rats have gnawed on the body, but it must have been long ago, before it began to shrivel into a state that seemed more monstrous than human. 

He’s seen bodies like this before when searching old cabins for gold. He and Dutch had personally rid old homes of corpses when they needed somewhere to stay safe for the night. They had never bothered him before. 

This body does. 

He’s staring at the kid’s mother, after all. 

“I found the gold,” Dutch calls from the other room. “Let’s go.” 

The boy hasn’t moved an inch, but his face is wet and pale. The bruises they gave him had started to fade but at this moment they stand out like speckles of blood on a white sheet. 

They got what they came for. There was no need for them to stay any longer.   
It’s with a sense of regret he leaves the room, leaves the kid with the remains of his family. 

Dutch had already saddled up when Hosea gets outside. “What took you so long?” he asks. 

“How much did you get?” Hosea asks. He gets up on his horse, feels Dutch’s eyes burning into his back.   
  
“Two gold bars, some jewelry,” Dutch says. “More than the boy owes us.” 

They settle into a slow trot, Dutch looks tense. 

“How did the boy seem?” He finally asks. “Was it he that kept you?” 

“His mother was still in her bed.” Hosea says. “I recon that’s why he didn’t want to go back.” 

Dutch curses under his breath. “Poor bastard.” 

Poor bastard indeed. He was, after all, trying to survive. Just like them. Just a child in a world far to cruel for someone like him, a world that would swallow him whole. 

They cross a stream. It’s a day’s ride to the nearest city. An even longer walk, almost impossible for a child so starved as Morgan’s. A child they left without weapons and food. 

“Do you think we made a mistake, leaving him there?” 

Dutch always seemed to know what he was thinking, they always seemed to beat in the same rhythm, tuned in with each other like cogs in a clock. 

“Our lifestyle is not suited for a child,” he answers, because that’s what he's supposed to say. 

“He’s already a delinquent, a good one,” Dutch reminds him. “He managed to steal from us both. We could have use for him.” 

He had been useful to them. He thinks of the kind shopkeeper in Lafayette, how easy it had been to con him, how easily swayed he was by their story. 

But it was a child, he has to remind himself. A child that they had hurt, that had been hurt before. A feral boy whose full name they didn’t even know. “We don’t even know if he would want to come with us.” Hosea says. 

“We can still ask him.” 

Dutch sounded so excited by the thought, and Hosea suddenly remembers how young he is himself. Too young to raise a child. Hosea barely felt ready himself and he was a decade older. None of them were fit for it, not at all. They couldn’t drag a kid into their life. 

_But we already have,_ a voice in his head whispers. Figuratively and literally they had dragged him with them. 

Alone and so far away from the nearest town he wouldn’t last a week. 

“If we turn back,” Hosea says, “We will be responsible for him for life.” 

He doesn’t look at Dutch but he can feel the smile radiating from his face. “Last one there gets to ride with him.” 

Hosea has already settled into a gallop before Dutch has the time to finish the sentence. 

The boy must have heard them come because he’s standing outside of the small cabin when they arrive, Dutch arriving seconds after Hosea. He’s looking at them warily, takes a step back when Hosea jumps down his horse. “Hey kid,” he says, “What’s your name?” 

This time he gets an answer. “Arthur,” he whispers. “Arthur Morgan.” 

“Do you want to come with us, Arthur Morgan?” 

The boy, Arthur, still has a cautious look in his eyes. “Why?” he asks. _Why come back?_ Hosea hears, sees it in his eyes. _Why do you want me?_

“We could use a kid like you,” Hosea responds. “Between you and me, it can be a bit dull with only Dutch around.” 

“I heard that,” Dutch calls out. He sits expectantly on his horse, his hands shaking slightly as they always did when he was nervous. “You are the dull one of us, dear friend.” 

Hosea ignores him. “What do you say, son? You want to join us?” 

Arthur stares at them, his eyes going from Dutch to Hosea like he’s trying to figure something out, as if he thinks they’re playing a cruel prank at him. If feels like an eternity before he nods and Hosea releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Good,” he breathes. “Good. Saddle up then, kid. You ride with Dutch for now until you got a horse of your own.” 

They ride away with Arthur’s skinny arms around Dutch’s waist. Dutch looks almost euphoric, more carefree than ever. When Hosea sees Arthur’s face, the small glimmer of hope in his tired eyes, Hosea can’t help but to feel giddy too. 

**Author's Note:**

> not beta-read! If you find anything weird, please let me know.


End file.
